


Secret Public Service

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13777989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: Pre-SR4.  Wherein the agents of the Secret Service regret their life choices.





	Secret Public Service

The branches of the tree caught her as she fell, and she slithered between them, holding her breath.  The din above was comfortably distant, but not nearly distant enough.  She shifted her weight uneasily in the tangled cradle, and the branch beneath her snapped, sending her tumbling into the flowerbed below.

A man in a trim black suit poked his head out of the open window above.

“She’s out here!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Faith swore.

She scrambled out of the flowers to dart across the driveway, vaulting the boxwood between her and the lawn and making a desperate sprint towards the fence.  One of the men was out the window after her, another was watching from the window, and still another two were coming in from what must have been a patrol of the gardens.

Faith hit the fence before any of them, and clambered up the wrought iron bars.  It was a tricky, twisting business at the top, and she swung herself upward and upside down over the finials to slide down on the other side.

Five men ran into the fence in front of her, the first two grabbing for her through the bars as she simply stepped back, out of reach, and the others piling up behind them.  A cocky, triumphant grin spread across her face, and she gave what she thought of their prowess with the silent, nigh universal gesture of _fuck you_.

Before they could follow her over the fence, she bolted across the avenue and escaped into the park.

Strolling along the path, she breathed deep of the free air.  She glanced back towards the gate, and a breathed a chuckle at the chaos she’d left in her wake.  Not watching where she was walking, she collided with the woman jogging the footpath who, evidently likewise, hadn’t expected her to suddenly appear on the path.

They hit the cement in a tangle of limbs, and Faith groaned in recognition of the indignant voice that raised a complaint.

_Fuck_.

“Hey Asha.”  Rolling out from under the startled spy, Faith pushed herself up to her knees.  “Still working London hours?”

Ignoring the offered hand, Asha followed her to her feet.  Faith brushed herself off, cocking her head at Asha’s scrutinizing stare.

“What... whatever are you doing out in the middle of the night?”  She looked Faith up and down, around at their surroundings, and back to the White House.  “Where’s your security detail?”

“I snuck out.”

“You-... _what_?”

“What?”

“You are the _President_ of the _United States_.  You can’t just _sneak out_ of the _White House_.”

Faith scoffed, shaking her head.  Her gaze fell on the monument in the distance.  “You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother sounds like a sensible woman.”

Faith flinched at the old sting of pain, and her tongue flicked to her lip.  Her bearing pulled inward, even as Asha reached for her shoulder.

“Gat would have said _, I don’t have a mother_.”

Any trace of sympathy that might have crept into Asha’s expression evaporated.

“ _Urgh_.”

Faith shook her head at the disgruntled snarl, and reached after Asha as she spun away on her heel.

“Asha, I just want to get drunk and go dancing and forget everything for a couple of hours.  Maybe a couple of days.  What’s wrong with that?”

Asha spun back towards her, narrowly avoiding the outstretched hand, which dropped as she jabbed a finger towards Faith’s face.

“You are the _leader_ of one of the premier superpowers of the world!”

“Do you know how long it’s been since the Leader of the Free World has gotten laid?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  I do.  It’s been four days, eleven hours.”

Faith’s eyebrows knit together.

“...wow,” she managed.  “I don’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out; you keep better track of my life than I do.”

“Get the President!”

A shout across the park alerted her to the burden of responsibility, and Faith’s shoulders drooped.

“Fuck.”

Tearing her gaze away from the entourage of agents running towards them, she sized up Asha.  “You got a gun on you?”

Knowing to whom it was she was speaking, it was something of a rhetorical question.

“What?”  Asha blinked at her.  Faith made a grab for the pistol holstered beneath her exercise jacket, sliding it free.  “Hey!”

Ignoring Asha’s protests, Faith examined the piece.

“What do you think you’re doing?  You can’t engage with your own Secret Service!”

“That’s not the plan,” Faith remarked, she pulled the magazine and cleared the chamber.  Then she offered it back.  “Quick, take me hostage.”

Between Asha’s ice cold stare and the encroaching Secret Service, Faith sighed and switched tactics.  “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”

Turning to face the mob of Secret Service as they fanned out around them, Faith jammed the barrel of the pistol against her throat. 

“Attention, assholes!  If you value the President’s life, you will _back_ the _fuck_ off.”

It worked.  _Sort of_.  They were close enough now that the man in front and center – a tall, grizzled, and all around all business fellow who had long since proven a _professional_ pain in her ass – threw out an arm to hold back the rest that joined him.  Where several of the agents exchanged inscrutable glances behind dark sunglasses, his gaze never left her.

“You don’t really think you can get away with this, do you?”

“No, I think I already have.”

“We have you surrounded.  Drop the weapon and...” the agent stumbled a bit on script, but recovered to pull through vibrantly, “ _release_ the President!”

“You can’t be serious,” Asha stated, despite all evidence to the contrary.  Her hands fell to her hips, and she addressed the de facto agent in charge.  “You do know she’s bluffing?”

“We can’t be sure of that, ma’am.  In the interests of the nation, it’s not a risk worth taking.”

“I can be sure.  It’s my gun for a start and I saw her eject the magazine with my own eyes.”

Faith side-eyed her. 

“Whose side are you on?”

Asha stared flatly back.

“The Queen’s.”

The agent in charge glanced between them.

“Hey, _the fuck_ , man?”  Faith’s attention snapped back to him as he lunged forward.  The gallant rescue came up short as she slid two steps further out of reach, onto the grass, and he froze.  “Don’t try to be a hero!”

They regarded one another for a long, tense moment.

Between one breath and the next, all hell broke loose as the President of the United States of America turned to bolt across Lafayette Square, trailed by a entourage of Secret Service agents hell bent on her personal safety.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream involving the Boss and the Secret Service, and while I do not remember the details I do remember a very long suffering contingent of Secret Service agents. I don't know why I never thought of this kind of thing before.


End file.
